Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Disgusting

Rubbing his eyes, he wakes up slowly. His arms ache and his back hurts, like they always do whenever he does anything. Which is exactly why he doesnt't want to do anything! Ever! But would they listen? No! Get up, they say. Go to school, they say. Pay attention. Do your homework. Get away from that TV, how dare you!

Sigh...

Strange this life, he thinks. No doubt things will get simpler and rosier as time passes on and he grows up. But for now, nothing seems to quite work. Does it?

Getting up is such a pain!

There's just the one bright spot in the entire worthless exercise, and he prays it works right now. It's a better wake-up than coffee even. Or milk! Ugh!

Eyes brightening through the resistance of morning sand, he lifts his right index finger and gazes upon it. Like King Arthur himself must have gazed upon his sword every morning. Excalibur, that is.

Examining the tip of the nail for sharpness and exercising all relevant joints for agility, he shoves it into his right nostril. Turning it this way and then that, he maneouvres expertly, feeling for his prize. For extra yield. A dash here and an inspired strike there later, his finger climbs out with its rich hoard.

Mouth dropping open in wonder, he stares upon the golden yellow matter poised grandly on the tip of his index finger. It shines in the morning light, it does! He looks at it closely, this natural produce of his own. There is a certain translucency in its body - the golden yellow blending with light yellow in some parts and turning distinctly brown at the edges. The center of it is so distinctly translucent! Tenderly he reaches a left index finger, to poke it gently. Very gently, because he doesn't want to disturb the texture.

It's soft. The surface has a certain amount of "give", so to say, when he presses down on it. Nice and soft. The piece itself is round, or almost spherical. The bottom surface is flattened since it rests on his index tip. But the rest of it quite spherical, yes. And extremely large too. It's a Kohinoor, he would have said, had he but known of the famed diamond.

He does not care to understand what fixates him so much to these things. Everyone says they're gross. But why? Doesn't he produce it himself with his own nose? Do they not keep him so preoccupied while he sits on the toilet every day? Why should he hate it?

He looks at it from all sides. It's so...not beautiful, no...but so mysterious. What is it made of? How is it made? What is that golden yellow stuff? Will he ever run out of them? Will he? He really doesn't want to. But if he does?

What then? The very idea is too outrageous to contemplate! It just won't do.

He looks at it from all sides, as if choosing one over the other. But he realizes it's a tough task with no real grounds for selection. So he surrenders. And pops it right into his mouth. A slight chew, feeling for the gumminess between his teeth, and he swallows.

My Punching Bag

Be Ye An Angel?

The author of this blog was born helpless, naked and without the means to provide for himself.
He has since fought these handicaps to emerge as a nonstop chatterbox spouting unnecessary drivel on unsuspecting, polite strangers who merely indulge him in order to get away safe and sound no doubt wondering even as they go how much he can talk, just the way you must be thinking right now if this sentence ever stops. There you go.
In his spare time, he enjoys spraying water on cats and watching them jump for their lives.